Life's too Short to Pretend
by SilverSunset3
Summary: Life's too short to pretend, too short to hold back. Sometimes she forgets that. But she won't let herself regret never having said anything. If only she can find the courage. If only she can find the words. Tiva. Oneshot.


I am a big fan of Tiva. And one day, after watching one of USA Network's awesome NCIS marathons, this idea popped into my head. It doesn't take place after any particular episode; let's just say sometime in the future.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned NCIS, but alas I do not. All I've got are fourteen episodes on my DVR.

Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

**Life's too Short to Pretend**

Ziva stared at Tony's unoccupied desk, indecisive. She was at war with herself in her own mind, at a loss of what to do.

Part of her wanted to confront Tony right now; part of her – the rational part, she thought – knew that she should bite her tongue and let it go.

His desk was right there, occupying the same office space as her own, and yet so far away. It was like a metaphor for her relationship with her fellow agent – he was so close, and yet so very far. The distance between them seemed insurmountable at times, a chasm, and Ziva didn't know whether she could risk the fall if she tried to cross. She didn't know if she was brave enough to take that chance.

She continued to sit there, tense, on the edge of her seat, poised to leap up and find Tony, but still unsure if she should. She contemplated her options. She calculated her risk.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day before, when Tony had very nearly been shot at point-blank range. And just like that, the emotions she'd felt came rushing back with all the force of a tidal wave, and Ziva was on her feet and halfway across the squad room before she'd even made the conscious decision to get up.

She made a beeline for the men's room; she'd cornered Tony there once before, so why not again? She pushed the door open forcefully, and came face-to-face with a rather startled-looking DiNozzo.

"Ziva? What–"

Ziva stalked through the doorway with all the grace of a lioness; she pushed Tony back into the bathroom while simultaneously shutting – and locking – the door.

In locking the door, Ziva felt as if she was shutting out the rest of the world, denying its existence for this moment right now with Tony, this moment in which she had decided once and for all to tell him exactly what she thought. She just had to figure out where to start. And so she stood there, hands on her hips, staring intently at him in the empty bathroom, the three feet between them masquerading as miles and miles of distance.

For his part, Tony just continued to look bewildered. His eyes read confusion and concern, but to his merit, he didn't try to break the silence. He didn't try to push Ziva to talk. He just watched her, wary and curious all at once as she stared him down.

Each passing second felt like an eternity.

And the distance between them seemed to grow and grow, in Ziva's eyes, though neither of them moved an inch.

She began to feel as if this had been a mistake; her resolve weakened the longer she looked at her partner, and her courage broke down. She was at the point of giving up and walking off in defeat when he spoke.

"Ziva."

Tony didn't even know why he chose that moment to break the silence. Maybe he'd seen something in his partner's eyes. Maybe he'd seen that she was about to lose her nerve and leave.

It had only been one word, her name, spoken in concern and bewilderment and anxiety, but it was enough to change her mind again. She hesitated the merest fraction of a second, and then she crossed the chasm between them in one bold stride, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him like she'd never kissed anyone else before.

She felt his surprise when she first pressed her mouth to his, but it passed, and a moment later he was kissing her back. She hadn't intended to kiss him. She'd intended to speak to him, to tell him how she felt… But this was better, this was _right_. She was conveying more with this kiss than she ever could have expressed with words alone. She was showing him how much he meant to her, all of the fear she'd felt when he was in danger, how she just couldn't ignore it any longer.

The passion increased the longer they stood there; the tension heightened with each second that ticked by. She had one arm wrapped around his neck; the other gripped his tie, pulling him closer to her. One of his hands was around her waist, holding her against him, and the other was tangled in her hair.

Ziva was amazed by how much she could feel from that kiss. She was amazed by how much she could read about Tony. She could taste her own passion mirrored in him, could feel her own care for him reflected back at her. She could have sworn that she reached a new level of clarity about his feelings towards her. She just _knew_ that he worried for her as much as she did for him. She knew how protective of her he felt. She could tell that he'd been harboring these feelings for a while, as long as she had, perhaps. And it had killed him, for all that time, to see her with other men, just as it had killed her to see him with other women.

All of this became clear as crystal to Ziva as she stood there, now with her back pressed against the cold tile of the men's room wall, kissing Tony as if he was all that kept her alive.

Later – neither of them knew how much later; it could have been mere minutes or several long days – they finally broke apart and just looked into each other's eyes. They were both breathless. Ziva had her palms pressed against his chest, and Tony trapped her between himself and the wall with his elbows against the tile on either side of her face. Their foreheads were touching.

Ziva could feel each one of Tony's breaths against her skin; she could still taste their kiss on her lips. She felt alive with a nervous excitement, as if the very air was sparking with electricity.

"Ziva…" Tony said again. He no longer sounded confused, or anxious. Only a little of the curiosity remained from before, now mingled with understanding.

"Tony…" Ziva gazed into his eyes, and blinked. She was at a loss for words. "I believe that I love you, Tony."

"Ziva David, you confuse me and scare me and fascinate me, and I've loved you for… I don't even know how long." He cracked a smile, and Ziva felt her heart do a flip in her chest. "But why now?" he asked after a pause.

"You could have died yesterday. Life is short; even I forget that sometimes. I did not want to regret never having told you how I felt."

Her eyes searched his, as she wondered how he was taking this. She knew what she'd felt when she'd kissed him, and she knew what he'd said, but all the same, she worried she'd acted too quickly. She didn't want to scare him off.

It caught her by surprise when he kissed her again, interrupting her musings and putting a stop to all trains of thought as she lost herself again in that perfect moment of bliss…

She was forced to come crashing back down to earth a second later, however, when someone banged on the door, shattering the illusion that she and Tony were the only two people in the world.

Tony looked over at the door murderously, and Ziva felt amused pity for whichever poor soul was on the other side. She herself was unhappy about the interruption, but Tony looked well beyond annoyed. She laughed, a smile tugging up one corner of her mouth.

"I guess we should go back to work," she said, as professionally as if this little altercation had never occurred. She straightened her shirt and smoothed her hair.

Tony looked back at her quickly, alarm registering on his face; Ziva's smile widened. He looked as if he feared that she was going to pretend that nothing had happened.

"Do not worry, Tony," she said, softly and seductively, "we can talk more tonight."

Tony looked both nervous and thrilled by the promise in her words, but before he could reply, another pounding knock echoed through the room; Tony, like Ziva, fixed his shirt and flattened his hair. His tie was a disaster; he hurriedly removed it and stuffed it in his pocket as Ziva strode over to the door and unlocked it with a decisive click. She yanked it open, surprising the person on the other side.

It was McGee. He looked at Ziva in bewilderment, and then past her at Tony, with increasing confusion – and some degree of alarm – on his face. He appeared as if he was struggling to find words.

Ziva just gave him a sphinx-like smirk and swept past; Tony thumped him on the shoulder as he followed her out, and McGee was left to look after them and wonder just _why_ Ziva had been in the men's room, and just _what_ had happened between his partners…

He didn't like the path that that line of inquiry led him down, and he quickly resolved _not_ to think about it. It was best if he didn't know.


End file.
